


The case of Jos' missing wardrobe...

by j_obsessed



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, I'm serious this whole fic is fluff, Jonny-Jos friendship because I'm angry with the media, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Sharing Clothes, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:47:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24787930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_obsessed/pseuds/j_obsessed
Summary: Because this definitely happens in canon, and someone needed to address it.
Relationships: Jos Buttler/Joe Root
Comments: 24
Kudos: 19





	The case of Jos' missing wardrobe...

**Author's Note:**

> I HAVE FINISHED MY EXAMS. I just did 5 exams in the span of four days, and let me tell you, I am regretting all my life choices. EXCEPT. The choice to ship this couple (and the rest of the cric-ships) because THEY ARE SO CUTE AND SO CANON. Hopefully, you enjoy <3 :D

It starts with a simple sleep shirt, that has Snoopy on it. DO NOT JUDGE HIM. It’s a really soft shirt, that Jos has had since he first debuted for England. One night, as he’s packing for a tour to SA with the boys, he realises it’s missing. It freaks him out a little bit, because he needs that particular shirt. It’s not exchangeable. He’s emptied out half his wardrobe before Joe walks into his room and nearly slips on a pair of running shorts he’d flung away haphazardly. Jos catches him just in time, in a bit of an odd position. The older boy however, does not let go. Joe doesn’t move either, content to let himself be held.

Neither of them moves for a minute. Then…

“Jos.”

“Um. Yes?” he’s still holding Joe in an awkward semi-ballroom-dip, and has a very sheepish smile on his face, as the younger stares up at him blankly.

“What the fuck?”

Jos coughs out a laugh as he sets Joe straight, before explaining himself. “I’m looking for something.”

“Right. I see that. But um, is _this_ really necessary?” The younger throws his arms to the side, gesturing at the state of the room.

“It’s a very important shirt.”

Joe seems to notice the tone in his voice immediately. “Oh. Okay. It’s okay! We’ll find it, if- um- do you want some help finding it?”

Jos closes his eyes and prepares for the teasing. “It’s a snoopy one, um, maybe you remember… From debut?”

Joe, to his credit, does really well at suppressing the _guilty_ expression that threatens to fly over his face. “Haven’t seen it Jossy, but I can help you look you know, if only to avoid this from getting any worse.” Joe does a quick 360 of the room. “Jesus Christ Jos, it looks like hurricane Tortilla _and_ hurricane Katrina ran through here.”

Jos stares at him, disbelief (at the fact that Joe isn’t making fun of him) and mild amusement (that Joe knows what hurricane Tortilla is) evident in his expression before they both fall over laughing. Jos doesn’t end up finding his shirt, but Joe assures him, that he doesn’t need it, and that he’s going to be brilliant.

Miraculously, when he gets to Cape Town and is almost through unpacking his suitcase, the shirt is right there, folded neatly at the bottom. He turns around immediately to tell Joe that he’s found it and that it’s been in his suitcase this _entire time_ but remembers he is rooming with Bairstow tonight. The ginger looks at him a little oddly, but dismisses it fairly quickly, with a ‘Jos come on I’m hungry!’, as he tugs his fellow wicketkeeper out the door. Jos obliges his friend, grinning all the way.

-

The second time, it’s his New Balance sweatshirt. Both of them. The dark midnight blue one which is just a tad small, and the dark green short sleeve muscle tee. He’s standing there in front of his wardrobe, grumbling about the loss of both of his favourite exercise shirts. Joe had already left earlier this morning for a run with Ali, so he can’t ask for the younger man’s help (again). A very impatient James Anderson is yelling from the doorway though, and he doesn’t exactly have time to go causing a natural disaster in his room once again.

“Joseph Buttler if we are late to training today, Morgan is going to actually hurl us both off a cliff!”

“I can’t find any of my damn shirts Jimmy, WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO!?”

“I WANT YOU TO HURRY UP!”

“DO YOU WANT ME TO SHOW UP TO THE GYM SHIRTLESS!?”

“JUST WEAR A MUSCLE TANK AND HURRY THE FUCK UP, EVERYONE’S TEXTING ME THAT MORGAN IS ALREADY THERE.”

“Fucks sake.” He throws on a navy muscle tank and grabs a black zip-up hoodie before dashing out the door past a still grumbling James Anderson.

Everyone oohs and ahhs at Jos’ attire the second he walks into the gym. Except…

“Doesn’t seem like your diet’s done anything mate, you still look like a contestant on the biggest loser!”

“Ha ha aha ha, very funny Hales.” Jos regrets taking his hoodie off immediately and crosses his arms over himself in slight self-consciousness. Unnoticeable, to most. 

“Damn Jos no need to bring out the gun show!” Jonny, always a lovely lad. Jos smiles at him, a little more at ease.

“Nice joke, he’s all flab.” Ah. Well. Yet again-

“Alex, will you shut the fuck up?” Another voice pipes up, unusually sharp. Jos turns to shoot a grateful smile at the perpetrator, who gives him the regular sunshine smile. _Joe._ Alex makes a face at the younger, and then at Jos, but the two blondes are too busy having some sort of eye-conversation to notice. 

“Someone turn down the thermostat puh-lease I’m having hot flashes!” Ah, Morgs. Ever the supportive, endearing, sarcastic captain. Jos grins and winks at the ginger, who gives him the same gesture right back.

“Who’re you trying to impress eh, Jos?” Mark. It’s always bloody Mark, isn’t it.

“He doesn’t need to _try_ Woody, _look at that body.”_ Ben. Jos shoulder-checks him, smiling genuinely again, as the two boys give him an appreciative once over.

He rolls his eyes at his teammates (and internally smiles at how much he loves all of them… ok most of them…), and starts warming up with his weights. He feels eyes on him the entire session, while he’s doing bicep curls, resistance work, cardio on the tread, on the rowing machine, hip thrusts, the lot. He can’t pinpoint who it is, but he feels like he is being ogled, not judged, but appreciated. It’s not all that different from being out in the middle, so Jos is more than used to it.

-

It’s fucking freezing, and it’s three am. And Jos just wants his fucking sweats because these pyjama pants aren’t doing fucking shit. Groaning, he tries to roll himself out of bed to get them. He regrets that decision immediately, as he falls onto the floorboards with a loud ‘thump’, which is followed by a pained string of expletives.

He lets out a sigh of frustration. He should have listened to Joe when the younger said they should carpet the floors. Fucks sake. From his spot on the floor, he can’t see his sweats in their usual place in his wardrobe.

All his anger and frustration and falling out of bed must have been pretty loud, because a light from the other end of the hallway flickers on.

“Jos? Is that you? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, it’s me, put the frying pan back under your bed please, I’m injured enough as it is.”

There’s a metal clunk and Jos almost laughs at how accurately he called it. Then, there are frantic footsteps. “Injured?! What do you mean!?”

Joe reaches the doorway, armed with his phone flashlight in less than a second.

“Oh my god Jos why are you on the floor, oh my god what did you _do_ come here-” Joe is at his side just as fast, the younger boy's small, delicate hands flitting over the muscle of his shoulders and sides.

“Joey I’m _fine_ -”

“Heaven’s sake Jos you’re going to be so bruised tomorrow. What the hell were you doing?! How did you end up falling out of bed like that? Scared the crap out of me.”

“I jus’ wanted some sweats... s’really cold tonight…”

Joe glances at him and turns away to get up and look into the wardrobe. “Are they in washing Jos?”

“No, I saw them here yesterday. I haven’t worn them in almost two weeks, it’s not supposed to be this damn _cold_ right now anyway.”

“Well, your wardrobe is lacking them.” Joe doesn’t mention the distinct lack of _all_ clothing in his wardrobe.

“Well fuck.”

“I’ll bring you an extra blanket Jos, stop complaining.”

“No Joey it’s okay, I’ll get it. Sorry for waking you up, and being a grump. Go back to bed.”

Joe smiles gently, and leaves the room, returning almost immediately with an extra quilt. The generator suddenly kicks in too. “27 degrees, just so that you don’t freeze.”

Jos tugs the younger into a hug, which almost sends them to the floor because the wicketkeeper is too tired to even stand straight. Joe laughs fondly and pushes him into bed. He wants, _so badly,_ to join his wicketkeeper, but he doesn't. Just leaves a soft brush of fingertips against Jos' muscled bicep.

“Thank you, Joey. Love you, see you in the morning.” Jos has passed out into sleep before he can even notice Joe’s shocked face.

-

Jos is supposed to be batting in the nets in *he checks his watch, which, miraculously hasn’t disappeared from his wardrobe* exactly fifteen minutes. But he hasn’t left the house yet. Why? Because he can’t find his fucking bandana. His hair is too long- he hasn’t had it cut in ages, don’t ask him why -and he needs it if he wants to be able to fucking _see anything_ during practice today.

(It’s because, when Jos had fallen asleep on the plane back from Australia, Joe had been absentmindedly playing with his hair as he was ‘asleep.’ It’s not creepy to pretend to be asleep while your best-friend-and-boyfriend-of-your-dreams is playing with your hair okay. Shut up.)

Anyway, back to the point, Jos can’t find his fucking bandana. Sighing, he walks out of his room and picks up his phone, sending Jimmy a quick text before he prepares to sprint down to the nets- because he’s late, again.

**8:13 Jos**

_Do you have a spare hair tie_

_I can’t find my fucking bandana_

**8:16 Jimmy**

_Why can you never find your damn clothes anymore_

_It’s like you’ve lost half your wardrobe_

**8:16 Jos**

_You will not believe the accuracy of the statement you just made_

_ Image sent _

**8:19 Jimmy**

_Are you behind on laundry or something_

_Where is all your shit_

_Even Ali has more clothes than that._

_And that’s saying something._

_Yeah, I’ve got spares._

_Hurry up you’re late_

Jos sighs. He needs to figure out what the fuck is happening.

He spends more than half of training with his hair in his eyes. Jimmy finds it hilarious, why wouldn’t he, he’s got Jos out five times today. Five plumb lbws. Fucking perfect bastard. He takes some pity, and shouts Jos lunch after training, still stifling laughter at the keeper’s disgruntled face the entire damn time.

When Jos gets home, he collapses into the sofa and checks his Instagram. Stu has posted a video of his training session with Joe this morning. And. What? Joe is wearing a bandana? Since when does Joe own a bandana? Is that a bandana?

That is exactly what he types into the comment section.

Not even three seconds after he’s commented it, Joe is walking into the living room.

“No. Why would I have a bandana?”

“It looks like you’re wearing one?”

“Nope. Do you want stir-fry for dinner? I know I bought some really good oyster sauce that Broady recommended last week, it should be in the pantry…”

“Joseph Root do not change the topic-”

Joe has already shoved his head into the fridge, fishing around and bringing out an assortment of vegetables and some beef strips. Jos sighs and walks into the kitchen to help with the cooking.

When he gets there, Joe greets him properly, with a smile and a hug that lasts just a little longer than it should. The younger tucks his face against Jos’ shoulder and breathes deeply. Suddenly, Jos forgets the five lbws he received as a result of not having his bandana. They are inconsequential to him. (As are most things that are not Joe.) (You’re lying if you can’t hear Eoin and Ben gagging at how gross that was…)

But, honestly, who cares, when you’re living with your-best-friend-who-is-also-the-boyfriend-of-your-dreams, and get to make dinner with him every night, sleep across the hall from him, and hug him whenever you want?

Certainly not Jos.

\--

Okay. Now, this is definitely a problem. Jos’ wardrobe actually looks like it’s being emptied out. It’s not like he has a huge amount of clothes anyway, but his wardrobe looks like it did back when he was a struggling college student. But somehow, this time, he’s a college student without his most trusted hoodie. Which kind of like, goes against everything college students stand for but… whatever shut up stop judging his similes, he’s not a damn English Literature major. The hoodie in question is a colour block zip-up Nike one, made of sweatshirt material, the one he always wears when going running.

And it’s not in its damn spot. There’s a lot, that isn’t in its spot, actually. _Huh, that rhymed… maybe he should consider English Literature after all…_ Jos does a quick stocktake.

Since coming back from SA, he hasn’t seen his Snoopy sleep shirt.

He still hasn’t been able to find either of his New Balance sports shirts.

His navy muscle tank has also gone missing.

Still has not found his missing sweatpants, and is worried he’s going to rack up one hell of a heating bill.

And he is still facing James Anderson without his fucking bandana.

 _And now,_ he’s missing his favourite Nike hoodie. He basically lives in it, and he swears on his life that he cannot live without it.

“Joe!”

No answer.

“Joey!?” He shouts, knocking on the younger’s room door.

“Coming!”

Wait. Was that come in? Or coming? Jos shrugs, and pushes the door open, “Have you seen my-” Jos blinks. Multiple times. “Oh.”

Joe flushes red. From the tips of his toes to the tips of his ears, he can feel it. Because he’s been caught, red-fucking-handed.

Jos can’t help the smile that’s on his face. He knows he probably looks a little bit daft but _oh my god he can’t stop smiling._

Because Joe Root. His best-friend-and-love-of-his-life. Is curled up in bed. Wearing his hoodie. Burying his nose in the collar of said hoodie. And oh my god Jos’ heart is about to fucking explode.

“Uhm.”

“You’re adorable.”

“Oh. I was… not expecting that.”

“Please tell me, that this means the rest of my wardrobe is in here somewhere?”

“Um, open the thingie, and it’ll be like, in the box on the second top shelf. Sorry, you can uh, you can take it all back. I just-”

“Oh my god, Joey-” Jos is struggling to comprehend the weight of the box. Legitimately, he’s pulled it out and dropped it on the bed, where there is now a huge dip.

“Don’t say anything! Please I know it’s really weird I just, I really like the way you smell. It’s like-”

 _“Oh my god.”_ Jos’ world is crashing onto its side, and honestly, it’s about fucking time.

“You just smell so warm and safe and it’s like home Jossy, you’re like home-”

“I love you.” Jos can’t help himself.

“You _what-”_ Joe looks a bit like a baby goldfish and it’s the most endearing thing Jos has seen in his entire 29 years on this Earth, _INCLUDING that video of the two kids from different nationalities talking through google translate_ , and Jos loves him so fucking much and-

“I love you.”

Joe’s face has lit up, and if Jos thought he loved the younger before, it’s nothing compared to right now. Because Jos is in love. Really deep in love. He doesn’t even give a fuck that Joe’s stolen half his wardrobe. Maybe even three quarters.

“You- Oh my god you are giving me _all your clothes_.”

“Joey, I’ll give you my _everything.”_

_“Oh my god.”_

“Joey I-”

“Shut up, kiss me.”

Jos fists a hand in Joe’s (his) hoodie and presses his lips to the younger boy’s. Joe smiles into the kiss, and then shoves his face into Jos’ neck and inhales.

“I love you too, you know.”

“Yeah baby, I know. But it’s always nice to hear.” Joe smiles and buries himself into Jos’ hoodie, and Jos himself.

Within a week, they are sharing a wardrobe with each other. And a bed. (Joe still steals all of Jos’ clothes though. Does Jos give a single fuck? Absolutely not. Not when the love of his life looks that happy.)

A few years later, they promise to share the rest of their lives with each other too. Although, that promise, really happened the day they met, didn’t it?


End file.
